So much for compassionate conservatism. Right now, the kindest thing anyone could do is turn off Librium Liz’s life support. Instead, they let her flounder, humiliating herself more day by day. And all this because no one can yet figure out how to replace her. Or with whom. And yet, strangely enough, it could have been much worse. Truss didn’t die. Or hit her glass of water and give her an electric shock. The bar really is that low. The President did not call an early end to the Prime Minister’s questions to avoid further embarrassment. Her artificial stupidity didn’t stop at awkward moments. So her jerky hand movements were almost synchronized with her robotic delivery. Almost. Tory MP visibly furious at party chaos: ‘the damage they’ve done is extraordinary’ – video Her MPs themselves did not publicly abuse her. Sajid Javid, who had been given a question on the order paper, didn’t bother to turn up. He was rumored to have been bought out with No 10 suspending the assistant who had reportedly told the media that Truss always thought Saj was shit. As if. The idea that Truss has the foresight to tell if someone else is crap is patently absurd. Like taking a piece of 80s Amstrad junk to check out the latest iPhone. Best of all, Jeremy Hunt didn’t intervene. At almost any moment he could say enough was enough. That the new regime had tried to be an understanding, benevolent regime. That’s why he allowed Truss to come out from under the desk where she was being held hostage to act as team leader for half an hour. But, having only seen a few minutes of her acting, he decided to cut the fun short. It was time for the real new regime leaders to take over and reassure the country. Or at least try. Five minutes before PMQs began, Thérèse Coffey took her place on the bench. She reached into her doctor’s bag and began dispensing large amounts of prescription psychotropic drugs to other cabinet members. Though not to Hunt, who seemed to be stumbling already. Seeing his face melt in the reflection of his glittering patent leather thigh-high boots. The others dropped the pills eagerly. With the fist. Anything to ease the pain of their shared existential futility. To momentarily forget that they had allowed their ambition to be associated with someone so obviously flawed. Mentally and emotionally. To eliminate the inevitable to become past tenses as well. Then Librium Liz appeared. Smiling stupidly. As if oblivious to the temporary nature of her condition. That this could very well be the last time she’s given a leading role at PMQs. It was as if she had also entered the bag of drugs. Although not for her the usual heavy sedatives and barbiturates. Instead, he went for the quaaludes. She somehow contrives to confine herself to a zombie state while driving her to dizzying heights of liberation. A disturbing proposition. There were no cheers to greet the arrival of the Leader In Name Only. Rather, her own rearguards had gathered like gas in a car accident. Terrified by their own wickedness, but unwilling to miss the action. Within minutes we got the first laughs. All it took was for Truss to say she had missed the morning meeting with fellow ministers. Something that is said in every PMQ. Only this time everyone knew he had no colleagues. Just kidnappers and guards. From there it was just a painful, slow decline. Labour’s Justine Manders wanted to know why she had sacked her chancellor and not herself. After all, Kwasi Kwarteng had done exactly what she had promised the Tory party. “I was clear,” said Quaalude Liz. He really hadn’t. It never is. Synchronized mid-sentence pauses provided a gap that was only filled with more laughter. Truss smiled blankly again. He has no emotional antennae, so he can’t read the room. I can’t tell if people are laughing at her or at her. Someone has to help her. Keir Starmer then rose to inflict further injury. Nothing fatal. It suits Labor to have an ersatz prime minister who everyone knows is on life support. This was the Labor leader at his most surgical. His most forensic. Good gags, better soundbites. Short and not so sweet. Truss had nothing to say. Apart from ‘sorry’, ‘I make the tough decisions’ – she doesn’t, the tough decisions are all made on her behalf – and ‘what has Labor done about the financial crisis?’ Er… a word in the dim. Labor has not been in government for over 12 years. He didn’t cause the mess nor is he in a position to do anything about it. Not yet, anyway. It continued. Quaalude Liz went on to tell the SNP’s Ian Blackford that the pension triple lock will be maintained. Only no one knew if she had cleared this with her captors or if she was just a freelancer. Just the day before, Reichsmarschall Hunt had rather suggested that he wanted the pensioners dead. And even if it were true now, there are an infinite number of parallel universes in the Truss space-time continuum in which things could be equally true and untrue at the same time. Today’s promise is just a lie waiting to happen. There were no cheers as Quaalude Liz left the room. Just an empty silence as she was led back to Downing Street to be put back in her cage. “We can’t allow that to happen again,” Hunt said. “Cancel her engagements this evening and keep her at home. The new regime was very kind. Too well-intentioned. Time to make another Kwasi. Someone get rid of Suella Braverman. Somewhat. Just for the hell of it. To show that we can. It’s about time we had a home secretary who wasn’t half-hearted and mean-spirited. We need someone with at least one brain cell.” “What took you so long?” said Grand Sapps, flipping through his spreadsheet. “It’s a stitch,” squawked the useless Suela. No one expects from the Guardian Anti-Growth Coalition. Viva the Wokerati!
